


How rare and beautiful

by head_archivist



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: F/M, don't even worry about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:35:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26163493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/head_archivist/pseuds/head_archivist
Summary: "You," she says. It means everything: I need you. I'm here for you. I'll never leave you. I love you."You," he replies.The wind stirs the fog on the water.or: the kayaking trip no one asked for.[ for best resultsturn this on in the background. ]
Relationships: Sasha James/Tim Stoker
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	How rare and beautiful

"How's the water?" 

Sasha dips a toe in, makes a face, and says, "cold. How do you stand it?" 

Tim sits in the lake. He considers laying back, taking a mouthful of water, and spitting it at her, but thinks about horrible flesh eating diseases and mouth parasites - not that they'd do much to him at this point - and reconsiders. He settles instead for flicking the surface of the water, sending an arc of droplets Sasha's way. She makes a strangled noise and leaps out of the way. 

"Rude ass," she says, but she's grinning. 

The kayaks are pulled up onto the shore. Their tent is packed, sleeping bags rolled. They should be heading off to the next spot on the lake but instead Tim has decided to have a swim and 'gently' encourage Sasha to join him. 

But it's the end of summer, and the water has gotten chilly. Tim doesn't mind too much - he's warm blooded, he likes to say, never been cold in his life - but Sasha is struggling, and rightfully so. It's a little too cool and Tim considers getting up and out of the water, but he can't concede defeat now. The sun beats down on them. There's a breeze. There's no one else around. 

"Come on," he says. "It's better once you're in, I promise."

Sasha, always so brave, wades into the water. She's grimacing but she manages until she's standing by where Tim sits, waves lapping at her legs. 

"Come here," he says, and pats his lap underwater. 

"No way," she says, so he grabs her arm and pulls her off balance. She shrieks as she hits the water, then gasps, her mouth hanging open. 

"Tim!" she hollers. He pulls her into his lap and pecks her cheek. 

"I've got you, babe," he says. 

"Bastard," says Sasha fondly. She traces her fingertips along the circular scars on the side of his neck and kisses him deeply, and for a moment, the water feels warm. 

* * *

They lounge by a campfire. There's the faintest sound of rustling of leaves as a gentle breeze picks up. The fire crackles and sputters; Sasha picks up a long branch and pokes at it, hoping that does something productive. It seems to do the trick. The fire picks up, flames licking along the wood they gathered along the shore. 

There's silence between them. It's not awkward or unpleasant - quite the opposite, actually. It's comfortable. Tim glances sideways, catching Sasha's eye, and grins a lopsided grin. She smiles back at him and something warm curls in his belly at the sight. 

He reaches out to take her hand, saying nothing. She's quiet too. There don't need to be any words right now. They've come before, and they'll come later, and right now all that matters is that little point of contact. A sparse fog has settled over the lake. The year doesn't seem to move onward. It's a perpetual August, cold enough at night that they zip their sleeping bags together and cling fiercely at night, seeking warmth, seeking safety. 

There are nightmares sometimes. They both take turns waking in the night, sweaty, dishevelled, breathing hard. When one wakes the other will too and they'll hold on to each other, like one is drowning and the other is a life preserver. Tim dreams of worms. Sasha dreams of losing herself. 

But the sun always rises. The night always ends. Together they climb back into the light. 

And there are nights like these, where they rest in silence by a crackling fire. 

Tim squeezes Sasha's hand. She squeezes back. 

Together, they're quiet. 

* * *

They wake up together as the sun rises. Their tent is orange and it begins to glow as the light shines on it. It's a nice gentle way to wake up, and Tim never gets tired of opening his eyes to Sasha's sleepy smile. 

"Hey," he says. 

"Hey," she replies.

Tim loves to wrap her braid around his hand and tug gently. He does this now, and she laughs and kisses his cheek before shaking her head to shoo his hand away. 

They never ask how the other has slept. Instead, they choose the best moment of their dreams to tell. 

"I dreamed we were riding horses through these big open plains," says Sasha. 

"I dreamed… about nothing," says Tim. "Nothing happened. Just darkness."

That means a bad night. But he's still smiling at her, that crooked smile that she adores. 

"Do you ever miss -" Sasha starts, and then she cuts herself off. 

"Miss what?" Tim asks. 

"Everything. Everyone," she says. "The Institute."

"No," says Tim, but he isn't looking at her. A lie. "I barely remember it." The truth? 

"I do," she says. He furrows his brow. 

"We can't go back," he says slowly. 

"We can't go back," she agrees. "Even if we were -" 

"If we were," he says, "we wouldn't have each other." 

"I know," she says, and she touches the scars. 

The tent is really glowing now, bright with sun. Wordlessly Tim wriggles out of their sleeping bag and grabs the kettle. 

As he crawls out of the tent he's met by the fog, a little more substantial than it was the night before. 

Sasha exits and comes up behind him, wrapping her arms around him and resting her forehead against his back. 

"You," she says. It means everything: _I need you. I'm here for you. I'll never leave you. I love you._

"You," he replies. 

The wind stirs the fog on the water. 

* * *

The paddle carves through the water and pushes. Tim savours the sensation of the muscles in his arms and chest and back working together perfectly to propel him forward. 

"Keep up!" he shouts. 

"Asshole!" Sasha shouts back. "You always go too fast!" 

"I'm not that fast! You're just slow." Tim turns to grin back at her and she hits the water with her paddle, spraying water at him. Tim just chortles, pleased with himself. 

Sasha, huffing and puffing, works her paddle faster and catches up, then rests the paddle on the lip of the opening in the kayak and coasts for a moment. "How far are we going today?" she asks. 

Tim looks up at the sun overhead. "Not much further now," he says. "There's a clearing up there, see? We can set up there. Just outside the tree line."

"What do you want to do tonight?" 

"I want to hurl myself into the water, and also kiss you a lot," he says. 

"I'm not coming with you this time," says Sasha, and Tim pulls a face. "No," she adds, as he starts to whimper. "It's way too cold!" 

She's right. It's getting colder, like the sun doesn't quite touch the water anymore. Tim loves being in the water, though, and he's willing to suffer a little. 

Truth be told, the cold doesn't really reach him that much these days. 

The fog is thickening behind them and the wind comes from that direction too. Already they've become unable to see where they've been. But Tim trusts the sun, and Sasha trusts Tim, and together they steer the kayaks towards the shore, chasing the light and the warmth.

* * *

They'll catch each other singing every so often. Tim half hums, half mumbles. Sasha makes up the words sometimes. Slowly it's becoming harder to remember lyrics, and it's not like they can look them up anymore. 

So they start to write their own. Silly things that would only make sense to the two of them, set to the tunes of half remembered songs. 

And sometimes one of them will hiccup on a line, only to remember a whole verse, and they'll sing it together triumphantly at the top of their lungs. Tim will roar with laughter, almost capsizing, and Sasha will be overtaken by the giggles. 

"How rare and beautiful," Sasha sings this morning, laying in their shared sleeping bag, then stops and repeats it. "How rare and beautiful…" 

"It truly is," Tim murmurs against her skin, "that we exist."

She ponders those lyrics for a moment. Her fingers trail up and down Tim's bare back. He's half asleep on her but awake enough to mumble. 

"It is, though," she says. 

"Mm?" 

"Rare and beautiful," she says. 

Tim opens his eyes and looks up at her. He doesn't look as substantial, he's a little more haggard, but it's still that dear face she loves so fiercely.

"Rare and beautiful," he agrees. "You."

"You," she echoes. 

"If we were - you know -" 

"Yes?" 

"Would we be like this?" 

She turns the question over in her mind, then decides that maybe it isn't worth answering. What's the use of what ifs now? It is how it is. 

"I'm not going anywhere," she says instead. 

"I know," he says. But his voice is uncertain. It catches a little. They've been clinging the same way but things have begun to feel very far away. Her hands are going numb.

There's fog all the time now. It's thickening and billowing and sometimes it's hard to fight their way through. Sometimes she almost loses sight of the tail of Tim's kayak out on the lake. His voice tethers her, though. There's no losing that. 

She couldn't ever lose that. 

* * *

Until one day she does. 

"Tim," she calls through the fog. The red tail of his kayak disappears into the emotionless white. She peers into it, but there's nothing to be seen. It hurts her eyes. 

"Tim?" she calls again. He just must not have heard her. 

But there's no response. 

She thinks about drowning in nightmares, about waking safe in his arms, and something inside her breaks, and she's yelling frantically now, unable to calm herself down. 

"Tim!" 

Nothing. 

"Timothy Stoker, I swear to God, if you don't come get me…"

The threat dies on her lips. She refuses to cry. She knows if she starts, she won't be able to stop. 

"Tim…" 

She backs water, stills the kayak, rests the paddle on the lip. Her head settles into her hands. 

_How rare and beautiful…_

And then there's a strong hand gripping her arm, and she shouts, before looking up and seeing him, undone, with a look of barely restrained terror on his face. 

"Sasha," he says. "God, Sasha."

"Tim," she says, and she doesn't care if she capsizes, she needs to hold him. They cling together and the fog thickens but they're _there,_ so solid, so unquestionably together. 

"Here," says Tim, and he ties a rope off on the front of her kayak. She notices it's tethered to the back of his. "Don't go anywhere, okay?" 

"Okay," she says. Her mouth is dry. 

He leans in as close as he can and kisses her forehead. 

"How much further?" she asks. 

"Not that much further now," says Tim. "I can feel it. We're almost there."

"Do…" She swallows. "Do we really want to keep going, Tim? It's getting worse."

She recognizes that stubborn look on his face. 

"We're so close now," he says. "Then it'll all be okay." 

And what else can she do, besides believe him? 

* * *

They wake together and the tent is filled with fog. 

Wordlessly they pack up. Holding hands, more out of necessity than anything else, they find their kayaks and load up. Tim triple checks the tether and off they go. Sasha can't see the tail of his kayak anymore, no matter how hard she tries, but she calls to him every so often and he always calls back. 

And there's nothing for long stretches of time but unbroken fog. She's lost the ability to tell how long they've been paddling. She hollers. He hollers back. She can't make out the words anymore but at least he's there. 

The water doesn't make waves these days. No ripples. There's no breeze to stir it. 

She lets herself drift. 

What else is there? 

* * *

Tim looks up. 

The fog seems… thinner. 

Is that sunlight? 

* * *

They break through together. 

First the tips of their kayaks breach the fog, and then they're out, and the shore is in sight. They've reached the end of the lake. The fog ends as though there were a wall keeping it contained. 

"Sunlight," says Sasha, and she laughs. 

"There's a song about that," says Tim. The words come rushing back. "I had been lost to you, sunlight…"

"Flew like a moth to you, sunlight," Sasha sings back. 

They propel through the water together. Their kayaks carve through it effortlessly, as effortlessly as they laugh together now. 

The sand glitters ahead of them. The sun beats down. Time has started again. There are waves lapping at the sides of their kayaks. 

"You!" she hollers, and he turns to her to holler back. 

"You," he shouts. It's everything. _I'm glad I didn't lose you. I need you. I could never be without you. I love you._

Sasha trails the tips of her fingers through the water. 

It's warm. 

**Author's Note:**

> listen I just wanted to write short bittersweet TimSasha let me live


End file.
